Ties, Aneurysm Faces And, God Forbid, Feelings
by thewhiterose3
Summary: Or, that time Steve actually listened to what Danny was ranting about.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Ties, Aneurysm Faces And, God Forbid, Feelings

Author: thewhiterose3

Pairing: Danny/Steve, slash

Disclaimer: Not mine. I only wish they were.

Rating: T, for language. Rating may go up in the future, depending on how daring I am.

A/N: To give credit where credit is due, I was reading leupagus' (amazing) Worth the While and she made Steve say "You love me" (in a completely different yet beautiful context) and my brain just kind of went from there.

* * *

"I hate you, so much."

"You love me."

"You're just figuring this out now, moron?"

And something in the way Danny says it just makes Steve's world grind to a sudden halt. Like its one of the truths that Danny bases his world around: the sun comes up in the morning, he doesn't get to spend nearly enough time with Grace, fruit should never go on pizza _ever_, and he loves Steve McGarrett.

Steve realizes that his body stopped with his world when Danny turns around, half a dozen steps ahead and it seems, still talking.

"What are you waiting for, an invitation? We're going to be late for our meeting with the governor. And I know you can just swagger into a room and make three quarters of the population forget what they were doing, but some of us like to show at least a modicum of decorum once in a while."

Danny's got his hands on his hips, except when he unconsciously straightens his tie on the word decorum. He just looks so thoroughly exasperated and his words are much too big and the tie, fuck. The image is just so fucking Danny that Steve has a sudden almost uncontrollable urge to push him up against the nearest wall and ravish him until words like ergo and modicum are no longer in his vocabulary _at all_. Until all that indignation is replaced by little whimpering noises in the back of his throat when Steve tongues his adams apple. Well, maybe not all because Steve can't really imagine Danny without the bickering and the constant almost affectionate indignation at Steve's mere existence.

And that's when it hits him again, like a punch to the gut. All of these images of Danny and how every single memory, every single argument comes down to the fact that Danny cares. Cares more about his general well being than anyone, probably since his mother. And true, Danny's a lot more crass about it and his caring is peppered with right hooks to Steve's jaw, but its still there. Danny loves him, and fuck if Steve knows what to do with that.

And that's when Steve opens his eyes to find that maybe that punch to the gut wasn't solely metaphorical because he's doubled over, hands on his knees and quite possibly breathing a little more heavily than walking down the hall of their HQ calls for. Danny's still looking at him like he's lost his mind, which is really his normal expression when it comes to Steve, except for the undisguised worry overshadowing it. The worry that could possibly stem from the fact that Steve looks more winded right now than the last time he had to run down a perp who was also some sort of pro athlete.

"Steve, buddy? What the hell?" is all Danny gets out before Steve rights himself and goes for plan a, pretending his brain didn't just have an emergency shut down and reboot as it caught up with the knowledge that the most stable person in his life loves him and that instead of wariness, his reaction was the warm fuzzies and crap, he just imagined making out with Danny, too. Shit.

Cocky expression firmly in place, Steve replays the last bit of the conversation looking for something to latch onto. He needs to distract Danny and wipe that oh so fucking distracting worry and caring off his face before Steve does something stupid like act on it.

"Three quarters of the population, huh? I knew I was good, but I never knew I was _that_ good."

And Steve's pretty impressed at how normal that sounded when his heart still feels like its about to break out of his chest. Steve starts walking again, passing where Danny seems to have his own version of aneurysm face, questioning if the image of Steve suddenly and inexplicably hyperventilating in the hallway was just a figment of his imagination. When Steve gets another dozen steps past him and Danny still hasn't moved except for turning slightly and giving Steve the stink eye, Steve feels the need to crack the tension and move on before the questions start.

"Who has aneurysm face, now? Get a move on, or is Jersey Boy gonna start working on island time?"

At the mention of time and the likelihood of compromising his standards in lieu of how this ass-backward island does things, Danny seems to wake up from his inner critique of Steve's insanity and start walking again. And in a very un-Danny-like moment, he doesn't mention whatever the hell just happened. Danny just gives Steve a look that says, very clearly, "I know very well that you're shitting me right now and if we didn't have an appointment, we'd discuss this right fucking now, but just know that you are oh so not off the hook, asshat." And Steve's a little impressed both that Danny is capable of not screaming everything that pops into his head and that he can portray that complex of a sentence with only a glare.

"Just not right now, Danno."

His voice is too quiet, too sincere, and laced with an edge of desperation that Steve doesn't even recognize and totally didn't intend. And Steve can't find it in himself to look Danny in the eye anymore, choosing instead to find a spot just above his head infinitely fascinating.

But he and Danny are nothing if not in sync, and so Danny just gives him another assessing almost glare that could write a fucking novel and they start walking toward the parking lot and talking again. Or, more accurately, Danny talks.

"Tonight then, idiot. But I'm driving. And if we end up in _another_ impromptu gunfight and you can't outrun the perp or I get shot _again_ because of whatever stupid shit is wrong with you, then you will fucking regret it. Because once we make sure that you're not fucking dead, then I'm going to beat the shit out of you and then I'm going to get Chin to beat the shit out of you and then Kono. And if you still don't believe that even your superhuman SEAL body has limits, then I will get the kung-fu cousins to tag-team beat the shit out of you until you find the unholy urge to remember that sometimes its okay to fucking stop when something is wrong with you."

And Steve's so relieved that he doesn't have to realign his world right fucking now, that he doesn't even argue about who's driving or the fact that he only has a few hours before he has to actually, god forbid, talk about his feelings. He just smiles and lets himself be engulfed as Danny's tirade gets sidetracked by how BAMF the other half of their team is and how not even psycho Steve on a mission is anywhere near a match for their combined powers.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Ties, Aneurysm Faces And, God Forbid, Feelings

Author: thewhiterose3

Pairing: Danny/Steve, slash

Disclaimer: Not mine. I only wish they were.

Rating: T, for language. Rating may go up in the future, depending on how daring I am.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who commented and followed my story. This chapter is a little heavy on the description side. I promise the next one will have more dialogue. A thank you also goes out to my lovely sister who has beta'd this for me. Any mistakes, though, are strictly my own.

* * *

For the first and probably only time in his life, Steve is thankful for long-winded politicians and bureaucratic meetings that go on forever. According to Governor Jameson, the budget committee finds it harder to question her seemingly never-ending allocation of resources to Steve's team when Steve is glaring at them in a semi-threatening manner. Danny's there to keep Steve company. And to sometimes find a diplomatic way to explain their more dubious tactics. Danny's a hell of a lot better at this than Steve, though sometimes Steve lifts an "I dare you to question our results" eyebrow behind Danny to give his explanations a little more umph.

Steve's also thankful that he perfected the "I dare you to piss me off" glare years ago and no longer has to try in order to sustain it indefinitely. Danny's on his own this time though, because Steve's mind is definitely not focusing on explaining why their cars need new tires _again_ or how four people require double the amount of ammunition than that used by the entire HPD. Instead Steve's mind is thoroughly engaged in trying to figure out what to do with his newfound knowledge.

_Danno_ loves him. Danno _loves_ him. Danno loves _him_. Its on a loop in his head and Steve has to check himself to stop from interrupting his patented glare with the smile that's fighting to break out. But just because today is one of the few documented cases of Steve McGarrett getting the warm fuzzies does not mean that Steve has a single fucking clue where to go from here. His first instinct, once the shock wore off, was trial by fire. To take Danny by the tie, that damn tie, and kiss him senseless right there in the car.

He had almost done it too, resulting in a few aborted hand gestures that Danny had raised an eyebrow at. Though he hadn't paused his monologue which ranged from Chin's rage hidden below that stoic demeanor (and how it would most likely give him a fucking aneurysm one day if he didn't let all that resentment go) to Kono's roundhouse kick of doom, destruction, and mayhem (yes, Danny had actually used the word mayhem) to Kono's propensity to go undercover and how if they kept doing that on every damn case, she'd be recognizable to the entire criminal community on the island within the next month. Fuck, Danny was a worrier.

Anyway. Steve did not kiss Danny in the car (where he all but had to sit on his hands to stop himself), or on the steps to the governor's hall (where he hurried in first so he wouldn't get the option of ogling Danny's ass), or in the doorway to their meeting room (where he settled for holding the door open just barely enough forcing Danny to brush against him to enter), or in any of the last 43 minutes and 17 seconds during which Danny gave him exactly 27 concerned glances of varied lengths and intensities. The reason Steve did not live out this fantasy that he hadn't even known he craved until about an hour ago was that this was exactly the kind of thing Danny had spent the entirety of their partnership loudly and verbosely chastising him for: running in hot and blind without a plan, without doing your homework, without backup. He's not sure if the backup one applies this time. And if Steve knows anything, it is that if he makes a move on Danny, then he wants to do it right.

Hold the phone. Wait a damn second. Make a move on Danny? Just because Danny loves him, doesn't mean Steve has any idea what he's feeling. Shit, _feelings_. In Steve's mind, feelings were in the same category as paperwork and traffic lights. Things that unfortunately exist and are useful in theory, but Steve had yet to find a proper function for them in his life. But Danny had always made Steve feel more than anyone else from day one.

Spending much of his adult life in the military, Steve understood hierarchies: the lieutenant deferred to the captain who deferred to the admiral. There was a system and it made sense. But all that went out the window the moment Detective Danny Williams came into his life. Steve was in charge of the team and also _Commander_ Steve McGarrett. The detective may be his partner, but Steve was well entrenched in the hierarchical high ground. So when Danny rebuked his authority, Steve immediately went to set him straight, publicly, once and for all. And that's when Danny's right hook changed everything. His right hook followed by the fact that he didn't leave, he didn't transfer, didn't even bow to Steve's authority, he offered compromise. Accepted Steve's brand of crazy and the fact that it already got him shot, and simply asked to be let in on the plan so he knew when to duck.

And Steve couldn't help but be intrigued by the pint-sized detective. Intrigued, confused, desperate to know more. Because Danny never let up. The man was relentless. Relentless in his pursuit of justice, in his attempts to train Steve to be a real cop and follow at least a semblance of protocol once in a while if only to throw them all off. And the harder Steve pushed him, tried to find his limits before he'd just up and leave, the harder Danny kept pushing back. It was like Danny's default position was six damn inches from Steve's face colorfully informing him how much of an idiot he was and exactly how many laws he'd broken this time and exactly why his actions should have gotten him killed if only he were a normal human being and not a psycho with superhuman SEAL powers.

Steve had never had another human being more thoroughly insert themselves into his life and just fucking stay there. Even when they weren't on duty, Steve found himself by Danny's side almost every weekend, often with Grace in tow. Or more accurately, Grace was leading with he and Danny in tow. Now Steve had never been good with children. Didn't have an abundance of experience with them after being one himself. But there was something about Grace Williams that, eerily like her father, simply made herself at home in Steve's life without asking permission or forgiveness. And now he really couldn't imagine his life without either of them in it.

And that was the kicker. Right there. Danny made him feel like he could maybe have a normal life and stay in one location for more than a week. Made him want to. Made him look forward to the weekends instead of dreading what the fuck he was going to do with himself without work to distract him from the ghosts sharing his childhood home. Because somehow the stains of his father's blood on the floor didn't stand out in stark detail when Danny was not a foot away on the couch, beer in hand, giving a running commentary of whatever game was on.

Or when Grace had what looked like a squadron of Barbie dolls spread out over his floor entrapping both Steve and Danny in a world of parties and matching shoes and drama over which of the seventeen girl Barbies was dating the one boy Ken. Though in the last few weeks, there did seem to be a surprising number of girl on girl Barbie dates. Steve had raised a questioning eyebrow to Danny, only to find him emphatically shushing his daughter and making slashing motions across his neck. Those two seemed to have a language of their own sometimes, but they were letting him in, pulling him into their precious world day by day and Steve never stopped questioning how in the hell he got that privilege.

Because Danny spent 90% of his communication with Steve describing in elaborate detail how Steve was going to get them all killed, only for Danny to trust Steve around the person who was most precious to him. What the fuck had he done to deserve that? If that wasn't an example of love, Steve didn't know what the hell was.

But, shit, what if he was wrong? What if this was just how partners were? What if this was just Danny's way of being a good friend, in the overbearing, loud, and intense way he did everything else. And Steve couldn't help momentarily wondering what it would be like to have all that intensity focused on the pursuit of mutual pleasure. Would Danny kiss would the same intensity and raw emotion with which he fought? Fuck, Steve hoped so.

He couldn't just say, "hey Danno, so I figured out that you love me, but I really am the social leper you keep saying I am and I can't figure out if you're just the best damn friend and partner I've ever had or if I should drag you onto the nearest flat surface and fuck you senseless. I'm really hoping for the latter. Little help, brah?" Shitty plan. Bad fucking plan. He needed to gather more intel.

Who could he ask? Steve knows exactly three people who know both he and Danny well and are not currently in jail: Chin, Kono, and Mary. Fuck, he was not bringing his sister, his sister who he just figured out how to talk to for ten minutes without throwing blame around with, into this mess. That left Chin and Kono. Chin had been on the force for fifteen years, but he might be a little biased on what constituted a good friend and partner, after the whole my entire precinct (and family) forgets they know me as a person and instead listens to what the IA says and holds a grudge for fucking ever. But then Kono had never had a chance to have a partner at all. They'd scooped her up into their merry band of insanity before she'd even graduated the academy. She would also mock him mercilessly and loudly. Chin's mocking would most likely consist of raised eyebrows and pointed knowing glances. Chin it was, then.

Good, now he had a plan, but that still left the car ride back to HQ. Steve knew well that now that they were no longer late for something where they could not afford to get distracted by an argument that could escalate into a screaming match where they proved once again that their stubbornness quotas were scarily evenly matched, Danny would prevail with the questions. The questions that Steve was not ready to answer.

But out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees a politician reach for his briefcase and knows that he'll have to battle an in-car Danny off the cuff. Steve eyes refocus on the object of his inner debate to find concerned and questioning gaze of the afternoon number forty seven staring back. The governor closes the meeting and they file back out into a chilly Hawaiian fall afternoon, where the temperature may even drop below seventy tonight. Steve still can't fathom how Danny can hate the consistently beautiful weather that surrounds his home. But Danny's already bitching.

"How the fuck can it be November and feel like this? This is fall? I'm not even wearing a jacket. Does this god-awful place even have seasons? Have you ever seen the leaves change or, horror of all horrors, snow?"

"I did live in Annapolis, asshole."

"For what, like four years? So you've seen about a foot of snow at a time, at the most? Bet you've never had to clear a driveway. Fuck, have you ever even made a snow man? Man, you've had a deprived childhood. Never? Really? Wow. That's just wrong man, just wrong."

At this point, the conversation has gotten them back into the car and Steve has decided to let Danny drive again, if only so he'll have less brain power available to question him. But, just his luck, as soon as the doors to the Camaro shut, Danny returns to his favorite subject.

"What is _wrong_ with you? I've seen comatose patients pay more attention than you did in that meeting. I swear you spent the entire damn time glaring at the projector screen. Did it try to kill you in a past life? Do you have a vendetta against large expanses of white? Did you have a traumatizing experience with a project screen as a child?"

"I don't have to pay attention, that's what you're here for. And you didn't exactly have your eyes glued to whoever was speaking, you looked at me 47 times in an hour and a half meeting."

"Don't flatter yourself, princess. I was trying to figure out if you were still breathing. Forty seven times, really? You were counting? Not forty eight? Not approximately anything? Holy shit, I don't want to even know what goes on in that idiot brain of yours. I really just don't want to know."

"Good."

"Good? What the hell, no really I want to know, what the fuck is wrong with you? You're acting weird, I mean weirder than normal, even for you. Don't think I've forgotten whatever the hell was wrong with you earlier when you almost fucking passed out in the hallway or your little tourettes outbreak in the car on the way here."

"Not fair. You said we'd talk about it tonight. It's not tonight yet, Danno." And that came out a lot more petulantly than Steve was going for. Combine that with the fact that he'd unconsciously crossed his arms in front of him while saying it and shit.

"What are you, an infant? Really? Because I'm just curious here. Sometimes I swear you just skipped childhood and it comes out in bursts in between taking down gun-runners."

"No, Danny I did not emerge from the womb as a full grown adult. I lived through infancy and childhood and adolescence. And I was held as a child, thank you very much. There are pictures to prove all of it, multiple pictures."

And they're walking into HQ with Danny mumbling about anti-aging software and the wonders that can be achieved through Photoshop when Danny's phone starts playing his ex-wife's creepy-ass ring tone. Except its after 4 now, which means its Grace with her daily recap of everything she learned in school today, how piano lessons went, and a dramatic retelling of Mr. Hoppy's antics. Danny's face immediately transforms and after one "this discussion is clearly not over and your distraction tactics, while admirable, are pretty damn transparent" glance in Steve's direction, ambles toward his office where he will be utterly transfixed by his daughter for the next half hour at least.

Steve uses this newfound freedom to put his plan into action. He finds Chin in his office catching up on the dreaded paperwork. He looks more than a little relieved when Steve awkwardly shuffles into his office and shuts the door. Chin, hackles immediately up upon the closing of the door, motions toward the empty chair. Steve doesn't sit, that would mean facing Chin directly. Instead, he paces, hands in his pockets then gesturing haphazardly as if the air will speak for him, then back in his pockets. Steve's bound to have surpassed his awkward quota for the month just today and decides to dive in before he can make more of an ass of himself.

"Danny. I just, today Danny was talking and well, Danny's always talking, but today..."

"Yes."

Chin interrupts and Steve didn't think he'd asked a question yet, but the smirk on Chin's face tells Steve that he didn't have to. Thank heaven.

"Really? Fuck brah, I mean for real?"

"Yes."

And Chin seems so sure, so confident in his response that Steve lets out a sigh of pure relief and lets some of the tension drain out of him. Intel found, Steve turns to go but goes still with a hand on the door handle.

"Do, do I?"

And the plea is really just half a whisper with Steve half wondering if Chin will even hear him, if he even wants him to hear how vulnerable that sounds. Vulnerable, infinitely confused, yet hopeful all at once. Steve can't remember ever feeling so many things at once before this damn day.

But Chin's damn near superhuman so of course he hears. But there is none of the mocking Steve feared in Chin's reply. Chin's voice is calm, almost reverent if slightly amused.

"Yes, brah. Both of you. But Steve, don't fuck this up. You two are too good together."

Steve graces him with an honest to god, real, genuine smile and is three quarters of the way out the door when he pauses at the sound of Chin continuing.

"Took you long enough, slick."

"Bite me, Kelly."

Steve flips him the bird as he walks away, still grinning.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Ties, Aneurysm Faces And, God Forbid, Feelings

Author: thewhiterose3

Pairing: Danny/Steve, slash

Disclaimer: Not mine. I only wish they were.

Rating: T, for language. Rating may go up in the future, depending on how daring I am.

A/N: Okay, before we begin, a few housekeeping items.

1) A HUGE thank you to everyone who has reviewed and alerted my story, I am truly honored and am quite glad that you like it.

2) Be warned, this chapter might be a bit on the dramatic side, because I am the worlds largest hopeless romantic.

3) I am planning an M rated 4th chapter, but it will probably take me awhile (yes, possibly even longer than this one, apologies) because that is not something I feel confident doing. But I'm willing to give it a try. If the M rated stuff is not your thing, than this particular story could quite possibly end with this chapter. But really, who knows where my muse will lead me.

Enjoy!

* * *

After leaving Chin's office, Steve placates Danny's post-Grace interrogation by offering dinner at his place with a promise that yes, he will finally tell him what the fuck has been going on today. Danny brings the pizza, because Steve really has more important things to discuss than what toppings are and are not abominations against nature, while Steve supplies the beer.

As Steve waits for Danny to show up, he paces. As he does before every action, no matter how thoughtlessly reckless they may seem, Steve assesses the possible outcomes. This conversation could either go very well or very badly. Given the intel collected both from Chin and personal experience, the former seems more likely, but Steve is still nervous. His life hasn't exactly been awash with happy coincidences.

Very well could end up in Steve's bed (he's already put on a clean set of sheets just in case) and very badly, well Steve doesn't even want to think about that. Very badly would be Danny transferring because Steve's advances were unwelcome. Maybe he should take Danny's advice again, get into the suspects head, suss out the relevant information without revealing too much. That's it, this time he'd go in with a plan. Talk about Danny's feelings without showing his hand.

Finding at least a temporary solution, Steve looks up and directly into an intense pair of blue eyes. And Steve's not sure if he can really read Danny that well or if it's just his imagination, but he swears he can see at least a half dozen emotions swirling in their depths. The foremost seem to be worry, confusion and fear. Like Danny can deal with the Steve that has an ego the size of a mack truck who attacks every situation with more confidence and bravado than a damn army (it's the Navy, Danno. _Navy_.), but this pacing, terrified to talk to his partner Steve is utterly baffling. Behind those is a steely determination that underlies Danny's every action. This time it manifests itself in helping to fix his partner no matter how the hell he happens to be broken this time. And it's almost as if he can feel Danny forcibly not running away from whatever the fuck is the source of Steve's unease.

After what is probably no more than fifteen seconds, but is still longer than Steve's looked someone in the eye without his walls up in years, Danny mans up and breaks the silence.

"So, are we going to eat or is the grease going to slowly eat away at my hand until there's nothing left?"

That's when Steve takes in more than those ever-expressive baby blues. Danny's leaning against the door jam, still dressed in his work attire, in his defense Steve hasn't changed either. Just standing there in all his betied glory, pizza balanced on his right hand like he could hold it there for ages.

"Well, you do look comfortable."

"Had some practice. Wasn't always a cop, you know."

And Steve's instant mental image of Danny half-covered in flour, cheeks bright from the heat of the ovens, tossing pizza dough in the air is enough to make him salivate and not for the pizza.

"So is that why I should trust your opinions on toppings? Because you're a professional?"

"Damn straight. Now what we've got here," Danny opens the box with a flourish, "is the best damn pizza I've found on this god-forsaken island thus far. No fancy shit, no god-damned fruit, just mozz, sauce, and dough."

"Well, lets get to it then, pizza connoisseur." Steve resists the urge to chuck a slice of pizza at Danny just to get him out of his Jersey-cop-wear. Just to see Danny rumpled by something other than danger. And possibly to lick off any sauce that didn't land on his clothes.

Steve will never fully understand how they communicate without words or actions, but somehow both he and Danny simultaneously pass up the table, the ocean-view, and another glorious sunset and instead immediately settle on the couch.

Two slices in and Steve's limited patience has run its course. He begins rethinking the sitting on his hands approach because he can feel himself wanting to reach out to Danny, to make him understand in a way that doesn't involve fucking words. So much can go wrong with words.

"So, what the fuck?"

And of course Danny would say it just as Steve takes a gulp of beer, leaving him sputtering, half-choking, and unable to answer.

"No, really dude. So far you've been twitchy as hell, short of breath, even more fucking ADHD and unfocused than usual," Danny ticks off Steve's symptoms on his fingers and Steve cuts in before Danny can start diagnosing him with even more psychological problems.

"You… you love me?"

Danny just stops. Stops mid rant, mid gratuitous hand gesture, and it seems like all of that warring energy has gone straight into his eyes. If Steve thought Danny could say a fucking novel with just a glance earlier, it was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the multitude flitting through those baby blues right now. The foremost are anger, worry, fear, relief, and is that hope? Suddenly, they all come to grinding halt and settle on the most neutral expression Steve has ever seen grace Danny's features.

Danny slowly sets down his pizza slice and beer, wipes his pizza-hand on a napkin (when did Danny get napkins?), then turns to Steve and takes his beer and sets it on the end table as well. He then proceeds to lean into Steve's personal space ever so slowly and Steve hadn't realized how close they were already sitting. Steve's breathing starts to become unsteady as Danny stops inches from his face, eyes locked with Steve's, and punches him the arm. Hard.

And because Steve was leaning into it, definitely not because of the shock of not getting kissed, he rather ungracefully falls off the couch.

"That's it? That's what you get for scaring me. Really, man, that's it? I thought you were fucking dying or something. So, no tourette's? No random disease that your body is in the process of mutating in order to overtake the human race? Good. Because I have Grace this weekend. And since it seems that she won the bet, which I should have known because sometimes I swear she knows me better than I know myself, it means that we have to go to that god-awful restaurant with the singing waitresses and the funny hats. Fuck, I hate that place."

"You know? Hats… Grace… Bets? What the fuck, Danny?"

"Of course I know, asshole. Its pretty hard to not be aware of your actions, reactions, and feelings when a seven year old watches you continuously and calls you on your shit. Do you know what its like to have your kid ask you why you look at, yell at, talk about Uncle Steve like you used to with Mommy. I mean shit, she's seven. If this is what we talk about at seven, I have no hope for when she's a teenager."

Danny's confession is a catalyst because Steve is now in motion. And without making a conscious decision, he's up off the floor, has pulled Danny off the couch, and is pinning him up against the nearest wall, mouth devouring, claiming. There's a problem, though, because Danny's eyes are closed and he's not moving, not responding. But he's not pushing Steve away either.

So Steve abandons those lips he's been fantasizing about to kiss his way down Danny's jaw and swipe the flat of his tongue over Danny's adams apple, breathing his name.

"Danny, earth to Danny, you in there buddy?"

Awareness seems to come into Danny all at once because the next thing Steve knows, he's the one pressed against the wall. Boxed in by Danny's looming presence. Since when could a man seven inches shorter manage to loom? Steve wasn't sure, but fuck was it ever hot.

"Say it, tell me," Danny breathes, demands, still not touching Steve. Breath ghosting over Steve's jaw, his throat, anywhere Danny can reach.

The image of Danny still fucking looming over Steve, trembling slightly, refusing to touch until he gets an answer, looking up at him through his lashes with smoldering eyes and fuck if it isn't the hottest thing Steve has ever seen. Eyes that know how much Steve is getting turned on by this, know how much they both have to gain and lose by going through with it. Eyes filled with lust, heat, something so much deeper that can only be love, an overriding hope, and as always more than a hint of challenge.

And something in Steve breaks, snaps, rises to the challenge by way of letting go.

"Yes, fuck Danny. Want you. Now, later. Love you, Danno. _Please_."

It wasn't the most coherent declaration ever uttered, but it must have been enough because the next thing Steve knows, he's surrounded by the taste and presence of Danny.

The earth doesn't tilt and it doesn't feel like flying or free-falling and Steve doesn't hear music. Because Steve has experienced all of those things first hand, usually accompanied by gunfire (yes, even the music) and really, they aren't all they're cracked up to be. But kissing his best friend, fighting for dominance with ever touch, is like surfing. Like catching that perfect wave, that rush of adrenaline at finding the prefect moment where skill and nature come together to achieve a common goal. Like the island sunshine on your skin basking in the warmth of another perfect day. Kissing Danny is like coming home never really was, finding that nostalgia didn't exaggerate a damn thing. It's better, so much better.

It's like Danny can hear Steve's inner monologue because Danny does something positively sinful with his tongue and Steve's world narrows to wet heat, roaming hands over still clothed bodies, and "holy shit, _Danny_."

Steve's whimpering into Danny's mouth as Danny greedily swallows the sounds, smirking into the never-ending deliciously intense kisses. The tiny part of Steve's brain that isn't distracted by Danny's assault on his senses, and it's a very welcome offensive, responds in the only way Steve knows how. _Oh, it is ON._

Danny is on his tiptoes trying to get leverage when Steve takes advantage of this fact to further dislodge Danny's shirt and finally, finally gets his hands on Danny's muscled chest. Touching Danny, skin on glorious skin, is instantly an addiction Steve never knew he had, mostly because now its Danny's making such delicious noises. When Danny has to dislodge himself from Steve's lips to pant rather heavily against Steve's throat (and no, of course that wasn't Steve who whimpered at the loss of contact), the tiny competitive bit of Steve's brain begins a surprisingly detailed touch down dance.

But then its Steve's turn to lose his breath and wonder if he hasn't suddenly contracted some ailment because watching your partner slowly and deliberately removing his tie (mumbling about not having enough good shirts to sacrifice one no matter how hot Steve tearing it off would be) should not be that damn sexy. The sight of those practiced dexterous fingers exposing the last few inches of Danny's throat shouldn't make Steve lightheaded, shouldn't make Steve harder than he's been in ages. But holy shit, if Steve isn't mesmerized by the sight. And Danny, the fucker, knows it.

"So, all those times you ranted and raved about my ties, my suits. It was all because you were fantasizing about me taking them off? Seems like I've found a way to distract the ultra-focused Commander. Next time I need to win an argument, I'll just loosen my tie and watch your eyes glaze over."

And all Steve can do is growl and dive in, unbuttoning the top three buttons and mapping Danny's throat with hands and lips and tongue. Steve brings his hands up, dragging Danny's button up and undershirt up and off him in one go and Steve can't help the shiver that erupts at the sight.

Because seeing a shirtless Danny feels like an honor, a privilege, because Danny is_ always_ so damned covered with those goddamned long sleeved button ups in fucking Hawaii. And Steve has the sudden desperate urge to memorize this moment with all of his senses, to pay homage to every inch of Danny's beautiful body. Because there is a small part of Steve, located just behind the competitive streak that fears that he won't get the chance again.

So Steve starts his quest with that spot directly underneath where Danny's damn ties usually lie. Bracketing his hands on Danny's neck, he simultaneously massages and pulls Danny up, closer as he continues his newfound obsession with testing the tendons of Danny's throat with teasing teeth followed by therapeutic tongue over and over and over again. Steve wonders idly if he's leaving a mark but there is another much stronger possessive voice that hopes the fuck so because Danny is his, dammit, his.

And fuck yes, Steve was right because Danny becomes incoherent, his hands stilling, clutching, fitting perfectly in the hollows of Steve's hips, and leaning back to give Steve better access.

"Steve, God, _fuck Steve_. Yes. McGarrett, we need to… do that again, _Steve._"

Before Danny, Steve never knew how the utterance of his name could mean so many different things. Anger, fear, amusement, concern, but Steve's favorite thus far is this breathless pleading, wanting version. Because Danny wants this, wants them, _loves Steve_, and its all there in his name. It makes Steve want to do dirty dirty things and unexpected romantic things and then dirty dirty things again to Danny just to prove to him that he feels exactly the same way.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Ties, Aneurysm Faces And, God Forbid, Feelings

Author: thewhiterose3

Pairing: Danny/Steve, slash

Disclaimer: Not mine. I only wish they were.

Rating: M

A/N: For those of you just coming to this story, the rating goes up from my previous three chapters as I have finally finally gotten a little daring and written the long overdue smutty chapter. A thank you to everyone who has stuck with my story and especially those of you who have commented. I truly appreciate your support. And thanks again to my lovely sister who beta'd the story for me.

* * *

There are two smallish problems with Danny leaning back to give Steve better access to worship his now exposed throat, neck, and chest, though Steve is loathe to admit them. The first is that the farther back Danny leans, the farther away he is from Steve. No matter how good it feels when the motion presses their lower halves more securely together, this is not helpful in Steve's current plan to map Danny's chest with his tongue, to find all of the spots that make Danny writhe and moan. The second is that since Danny is no longer the one pressed against the wall, this position cannot be good for Danny's knee.

Steve knows these things but is trying really really hard to ignore them because he's actually touching Danny. Touching Danny like he's always wanted to but never dared let himself desire. And Danny's not complaining if the way he's gripping the hollows of Steve's hips and holding them like a lifeline are any indication.

But then Danny's warm hands retreat from under the edge of Steve's shirt as Danny takes a step back breaking all contact except for their locked gazes. And when Danny starts bending down in front of him, Steve immediately has two diametrically opposed reactions. First is holy shit, no because it can't be over already and Danny's clothes are down there and he'll need to put his shirt back on if he's going to leave. And no, please, gods no. Because he's not sure he can go back now. It's all too big, too much to stuff back inside, tamp down. And Danny's not saying anything and that's terrifying because if Danny just walked out now without saying anything, then Steve might just cry and fuck SEALs do not cry.

But Danny's gaze doesn't say that he's leaving. It is simply assessing Steve, cataloguing his reactions, pupils still blown wide with lust. And that's when the second reaction pushes the first to the side because when Danny balances on his good knee, he is in perfect alignment with Steve's cock. And Steve is suddenly absolutely certain that Danny's linguistic aptitude will not be the only way in which Danny's mouth is proficient.

But Danny isn't lingering at the bulge in Steve's pants either. He's standing back up with an amused glint in his eye.

"Number one, you're an idiot. Calm the fuck down. I'm not going anywhere. And second, later if you're good, but not here."

Before Steve can respond to Danny's mind reading ability, Danny's capturing his lips again, reaching up to wrap his arms around Steve's neck, or that's what Steve thought. It turns out that Danny's a sneaky bastard because Danny's tie is now around Steve's neck with Danny still gripping the ends in one hand taking slow deliberate steps backwards.

"Because I've heard tell that you own a piece of furniture perfectly situated for instances such as this one."

Steve responds with a growl and a lunge, pinning Danny against a different wall, pressing open mouthed kisses to Danny's shoulders.

"You couldn't just say _bed_? You had to use nineteen, nineteen fucking words?"

"_Fuck_, Steve," Danny pants. "You can still count? I'll have to work on that."

Danny then proceeds to open the button of Steve's cargo shorts, reaching in and stroking Steve's length.

"Shit,_ Danny_," Steve moans. But Danny doesn't continue. Instead, his hand retreats and Danny ducks under a distracted Steve's arm and continues pulling him toward the bedroom via his tie around Steve's neck.

"You are a fucking tease, Danno."

Steve was going for threatening, reminiscent of retribution, but he only managed breathless and more than a little needy. And then they were entering his bedroom with the newly clean sheets and the lube in the left hand drawer. This was really happening. He was really going to have sex with Danny. Make love to, _with_ Danny. Because Danny loves him. Responsible, devoted Danny Williams was in love with you'd need a tractor trailer just to carry his baggage Steve McGarrett.

But Steve's not the only one who seems stalled and a more than a little in awe right now. Because Steve's cargo shorts have now pooled on the floor, quickly followed by his boxers and when Steve takes his shirt off leaving only Danny's tie, Danny looks like a kid at Christmas. Like the kid who asked for the brand new bike but never really believed he'd get it. And now that he sees it under the tree, all shiny and new and _his_, he keeps rubbing his eyes because he's totally not convinced that this isn't a dream.

And that knowledge, that Danny is just as freaked out in a good way as he is, is insanely comforting and takes the sheer urgency of it all down just a notch. Steve decides that since Danny's done most of the work getting them here, it's his turn to man up now. So, he steps out of his cargos and towards Danny, catching him up in an exploratory kiss, slow and deep. Steve pushes a for-once compliant Danny down onto his bed, breaking the kiss only to travel down Danny's body, stripping him as he goes.

But a tousled Danny is still Danny so as soon as Steve releases his lips, he's talking again. Well, rasping actually.

"You're in charge, now? Who died and made you king?"

Danny talks a big game, but he's still lifting his hips up helpfully and arching into every barely-there touch as Steve works his way back up Danny's naked body.

"Let me, this time, just let me," Steve is just short of begging and he's not even sure what for. But then he notices Danny's tie lying on the bed where it had fallen off his neck and yes. Just, yes.

Kissing his way up Danny's body, Steve runs his hands up Danny's muscled arms and in a move that he's sure Danny will blame on his SEAL training, secures Danny's hands together above his head. Steve cannot stop himself from stepping away, standing up and pausing to drink in the sight of a naked wanton Danny spread out before him, breathing jagged, heat in his eyes.

"Is this a power game, really? Its just common courtesy, no super powers in the bedroom. We mere mortals don't have years of stealth training, _Commander_."

"No," just no. That was Catherine's bedroom name for Steve. Not here. Not with Danny where he doesn't have to be anyone else but Steve. And that is the amazing part, Steve isn't in charge. He isn't the commanding officer. He doesn't have to be anyone but himself.

Steve crawls up Danny's prone form with all the grace of a fighter and continues his quest to map Danny's body with his hands and mouth. Steve starts with the already purpling mark at the base of Danny's throat, swiping his tongue over it a few times just to savor Danny's involuntary shudder. But Steve's so distracted by having Danny displayed before him that he doesn't realize that Danny is still talking.

"Steve. _Steve. _Not that I'm complaining about your _ah_ dedication, but why, why am I not allowed to touch you?"

"Please, Danno. Next time, next time we'll do it your way. Just, let me. Let me."

And maybe it's the barely hidden desperation in Steve's voice and maybe it's the way Steve has moved on to Danny's nipples, laving his tongue over one while worshipping the other with his hand, but Danny acquiesces with a moan.

"Okay, fuck, okay, babe."

Steve rewards Danny's compliance with a real, honest to god, smile before he turns his attention back to his mission of finding every spot that makes Danny light up.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Danny mumbles turning into a gasp when Steve traces his obliques with is tongue.

Steve smiles against Danny's surprisingly muscled stomach as he sucks on a spot just to the right of Danny's belly button causing Danny to shudder and arch up into the contact.

Danny is every bit as responsive as he'd hoped; now he just has to get him past words, past thought, past any doubts he might have. Steve has a plan, maybe if he can keep away all of the reasons why they shouldn't work, maybe he can keep Danny. Maybe if he can stop Danny from thinking, he'll stay.

So Steve bypasses Danny's beautiful erect cock, pressing open mouthed kisses down the inside of his thighs, hands spanning them. Steve pays special attention to Danny's bum knee, licking the underside, biting gently, offering up apologies for being the cause of its pain. Moving down, Steve massages Danny's calves and feet until Danny lets out a low moan of gratitude. With Danny very nearly incoherent, Steve climbs back up Danny's nearly limp body to breathe over Danny's cock. At the renewed attention, Danny's eyes snap open and Steve's breath catches at the lust he sees there.

"Fuck, Steve. _Please_."

This is the Danny that Steve wanted, flushed and desperate, and he can't help but be a little bit smug so he accompanies his taunts with blowing lightly down the length of Danny's cock.

"Please what, Daniel? You're always telling me to use my words."

Danny attempts a glare but can't hold it when he's this desperate. This desperate for Steve and holy shit, that's rush.

"Anything, just. Shit_, Steve._ Please, bastard. _Please._"

Then Danny goes completely pre-verbal when Steve leans down and licks a stripe up the length of Danny's cock before taking the head in his mouth. Steve sucks on the head before taking in as much of Danny's cock as his gag reflex will allow, his hand making up the difference.

And shit, the weight and feel of Danny's cock in his mouth is new and wonderful and the sounds Danny's making are better than the ones Steve never let himself admit that he'd imagined. He groans around Danny's cock at the realization that he's doing this to Danny, he's brought Danny to such heights that he no longer has words.

Danny's moans are getting higher in pitch as Steve continues to add suction, trying to do everything that he's ever loved in a blowjob. It must work because the next thing Steve knows, Danny is yelling his name and coming in his mouth. Steve swallows as much as he can before releasing Danny's cock, but not before kissing the head one last time. His jaw aches, but it's a pleasant ache, reminding him that he just did that, he just brought Danny off with his mouth.

Catching his breath, Steve looks up at Danny. His eyes are closed and he's still panting. Hands still trussed up. And Danny, Danny is beautiful, tension gone, spilled out loose over Steve's bed. And the rush of arousal and affection makes Steve remember his own cock. Steve unconsciously reaches down to relieve the ache, when Danny's wrecked voice stills him.

"Steve, _Steven_, don't you dare. Untie me. Now."

Steve's hand is centimeters from his own aching cock but Danny's tone stops him and he immediately complies with Danny's request. Without pausing to even rub the feeling back into his hands, Danny reaches forward, blanketing Steve's body with his own and taking Steve's face in his hands, capturing Steve's lips in a kiss that leaves them both breathless and Steve arching and pleading for friction, pressure, anything.

"Danno, please. _Please,_" Steve begs, then lets out an involuntary whine when Danny rolls to his side and props his head up on one elbow.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been imagining this, wanting you," Danny begins as he reaches toward Steve's leaking cock. "Do you know what my favorite fantasy is, Steve?" Danny's hand loosely grips Steve's cock, pumping maddeningly slowly before he lets go entirely to ghost his fingertips over the sensitive head, only to resume the slow pumping, all the while still talking.

Danny keeps his eyes locked with Steve's as he continues. "My favorite fantasy is when I get to take my time with you. Lay you out, strip you down, make you come apart, leave behind your precious fucking control all because of little ol' me. And you're gorgeous, Steve. Absolutely fucking gorgeous, not touching, just taking it just because I told you to. You never listen to me, but when you do, holy shit is it a rush. You make me crazy, you know that?"

Steve is panting, flushed, eyes blown wide with lust, because _holy fuck_ the look in Danny's eyes tells him everything, absolutely fucking everything. He'd swear that the answers to all of the questions of the universe are in there somewhere. All of that energy, attention to detail is focused solely on him and its addicting. Danny's hand is nowhere near tight or fast enough, but _mother of fuck_, Steve thinks he might be able to come solely from that voice. Any further thought is derailed when Danny's voice lowers another octave and his hand correspondingly tightens and speeds up.

"But I wouldn't be able to tease you for long, I've wanted too much for too long. I'd have to taste you, turn you over and open you up with my mouth, get you ready for me."

And Steve wants that, he's right there, right there on the edge, arching into Danny's hand. He been reduced to whimpering before Danny even began talking and all he needs is a little more.

"_Danno_," Steve begs.

"That's it, I'd have you begging for my cock and how could I resist that ass? I can't, _I can't, Steve_," and Danny sounds nearly as broken as Steve feels right now. "I'd have to fuck you, press you down in the mattress, until you're like this, begging and beautiful and incoherent, until the only thing you remember is _my name_."

Voice cracking, eyes shining with so much more than lust, Danny leans down and takes the head of Steve's cock in his mouth. Steve explodes, sensation coursing through every cell as light explodes behind his eyes. All he can feel is Danny, Danny's hands and mouth on his cock, Danny's eyes on him, Danny's words surrounding him. Danny's name somewhere in the strangled shout that rips from his throat.

When Steve comes back to himself, Danny's head is on his shoulder and his fingers are stroking Steve's stomach. He can feel the giant goofy grin on his face as he presses a kiss to Danny's forehead.

"I'm going to hold you to that, you know," Steve mumbles into Danny's skin.

Danny nuzzles further into the warmth of Steve's body, but doesn't respond. And that lack of answer, lack of words tenses something in Steve's gut. What if it was all just words, just talk, not real, what if Danny didn't really mean it, what if he wakes up and Danny's not there?

It turns out that Steve's gut wasn't the only thing tensing and Danny responds to Steve's internal freak out before Steve can either voice or repress and internalize it.

"Idiot," Danny chastises fondly, crawling up Steve's body until they are face to face. Danny kisses the tense line of Steve's mouth until it relaxes. "What part of me not touching you until you admitted that you had feelings, didn't you understand?"

"The feelings part," Steve grimaces into the word, but visibly relaxes into Danny's kisses, becoming the blissed-out pile of goo that he was previously impersonating.

"You're a moron with the emotional capacity of a goldfish, but you're _my_ moron," Danny insists as he and pulls up Steve's sheets and makes himself comfortable against Steve's larger frame. "You got that?"

"Yeah, Danno," Steve agrees as he finally succumbs to the warmth and comfort and safety he feels in Danny's arms. "Love you."

He can feel Danny's smile and kiss against his shoulder as he too lets sleep overtake him.

"Love you too, freak."


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Ties, Aneurysm Faces And, God Forbid, Feelings

Author: thewhiterose3

Pairing: Danny/Steve, slash

Disclaimer: Not mine. I only wish they were.

Rating: T, for language

A/N: Apologies for the long wait. This, my first fanfic endeavor, is finally wrapped up. I will probably have corresponding one shots in this universe, but this is the end of the story. Thanks to everyone who has kept up and waited and been patient with me and also to my lovely sister for beta-ing.

Also, remember when I said I was a giant hopeless romantic, the warning still applies.

* * *

When Steve surfaces from the first uninterrupted sleep he's had in what feels like years, the first thing he notices is the warmth. Danny is a fucking furnace curled into Steve's chest. The second is that it isn't anywhere close to dawn yet. Considering the fact that he and Danny fell into bed at around seven last night, he's not exactly surprised.

What is both surprising and not and wonderful all at the same time is that Danny Williams is a cuddler. He and Danny are on their sides facing one another, curled into each other like interlocking pieces of a puzzle. The thought causes a renewed burst of affection to blossom in Steve's chest and he flounders for a way to express it until he realizes that he is unconsciously scratching blunt nails into Danny's furred chest. And his partner is slowly waking up, smiling and stretching and _purring_. Yes, gruff, words for everything Danny is reacting to a chest and belly rub in eerily the same way as Chin's cat.

"Fuck you, it feels good," Danny grumbles with no real heat, sleep complacent and loose, eyes still closed.

Steve grins. "I didn't say a word."

"You don't need to, I'm that good, babe," Danny smiles through his quip, opening his eyes and gracing Steve with his baby blues. Danny just looks happy, content. And Steve, Steve is honestly surprised to realize that he feels the same way.

"It looks good on you," Danny mumbles into Steve's neck as he's nosing up his body, placing lazy open mouthed kisses.

"Hmmmm?" Steve asks, almost a purr himself.

Danny has reached his destination of Steve's face and whispers, "Joy. It's a good look, babe" before kissing Steve slow and soft and sure. Danny kisses Steve like he has all the time in the world and nowhere else he'd rather be. And after hearing endless diatribes about how he'd rather be anywhere than here, that's a heady feeling. Something inside Steve's chest that he didn't even know was tight, suddenly loosens and joyful of all words, is suddenly one that Steve would use to describe how he's feeling in this moment.

"Yeah, just like that," Danny says, exiting the kiss. He doesn't go far, just takes up residence, face to face, mostly on top of Steve's prone form. "No more of last night, not that most of last night wasn't amazing, but don't think I didn't notice your not so subtle maybe if I distract Danny with orgasms, he won't realize I'm fucked up and leave plan."

Danny pauses, apparently to take in Steve's sheepish expression. Steve would avert his eyes or avoid this line of questioning entirely, but he can't really move both due to the fact that Danny is weighing him down and the totally subconscious urge to soak up as much of Danny's softer, gentler morning voice as possible that is paralyzing his limbs.

"First, if that line of thinking worked, I'd still be married to Rachel. Regular sex does not a happy, productive relationship make." A sudden wave of jealousy and possession surges through Steve at the thought of Danny and Rachel still married. Of Rachel never leaving, remarrying, taking Grace to Hawaii. Of Danny never following her. But before Steve's thoughts can spiral even more, Danny continues.

"Second, I know you. I was there, oh yesterday, when the mere idea of feelings made you hyperventilate in a way that bombs, car chases pursuing drug dealers with bombs, and chasing gun-runners who probably also have bombs through dense mountainous jungle never has. And don't think we're done with that subject, just because I'm making a point right now doesn't mean I won't mock later." Danny smirks, falling into their usual banter.

"My point is that I know you're fucked up. I realize that your almighty SEAL training prepared you how to survive being dropped out of helicopter into the middle of the ocean while hog-tied and being shot at, but not how to navigate a shopping mall. I realize that you know how to think and plan and react to tactical emergencies involving threats to international security and fucking nuclear weapons but the intricacies of chicken noodle soup not from a can astound you. I know you, freak, I already spend a good fourteen hours a day with you and now I'm signing up for the rest. What I'm saying is that I realize that this is kind of new to you, so I'm willing to go slow."

"I'm not the blushing bride here," Steve interjects, pouting.

Danny looks at Steve with the ever-familiar glare that expresses his utter distaste that Steve has somehow missed the entire point of the last twenty minutes that Danny has been talking. He gets that look a lot. "I'm not talking about sex, idiot. I'm talking about relationships. Actual functioning relationships. Because I don't know if you've noticed, McGarrett, but I'm not a casual sex kinda guy."

And there's not a whole lot Steve can say to that because, fuck, its true.

"So surprise, surprise, this is me saying that now that I've got you, I'm not going anywhere. No more Catherine or picking up women in bars or accepting numbers from the multitudes that hit on you on a daily basis. You're mine, moron, and I want you, all of you."

A burst of warmth, contentment, and possession burst through him at Danny's assertion. And Steve reacts in a way that is so much better than damn words, flipping Danny and claiming his mouth.

"_Mine,_" Steve declares between scorching kisses and Danny meets him every time. Danny's right there, just like he's always been, meeting him halfway, making up for everything Steve lacks, filling in the cracks that Steve had barely been aware were there before Danny filled them. But now, right now, Steve feels confident and whole and at peace for the first time since his mother died. Steve gentles the kiss, leaning back, but still resting his forehead against Danny's.

"Yours," Danny whispers, inches from Steve's lips. And what can he do, Steve has to kiss him. Has to let out how goddamn grateful he feels for that fact. Because hey, they've got time and if Danny's half as creative as his vocabulary implies, this is shaping up to be a fucking fantastic morning.


End file.
